


Round and Round We Go

by sharkie335



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/sharkie335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s standard introduction was “I like football, Ferris Wheels, and anything that goes more than 200 miles an hour.”  Rodney does something for him that adds to that list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Round and Round We Go

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for prompts for sga_smooch and reginagiraffe asked for “Rodney buys (or makes!) John something that goes very fast.” sga_smooch has closed, but I figured I could post this anyway.

They were back on Earth for their mandatory two-week leave, and both Rodney and John were at loose ends. They’d finished all of their meetings, gone to the mall and stocked up on civvies, music, and movies, and had even gone to a state fair.

So John was a bit surprised to be woken up early by Rodney. “Wha?” he said, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.

“Get up,” he said again. “I have plans for you.”

“What kind of plans?” he asked, but he was already sitting up, rubbing his eyes. He glanced at the alarm clock, and blinked again. “Jesus, Rodney, what are we doing that has you out of bed before seven on a vacation day?”

“Ha, ha,” Rodney said. “Up, come on.”

Grumbling, John did as he was told, going into the bathroom to take care of business, shower, and brush his teeth. He came out to discover that Rodney had laid out shorts and a t-shirt for him.

“Isn’t it a little chilly for shorts?” he asked. He wondered where Rodney had gotten them - he certainly hadn’t packed them.

“You won’t be chilly for long,” Rodney said, still cryptic, and John shrugged and put them on. He continued to pester Rodney for what the hell was going on, but Rodney just shrugged and pointed towards the door.

He wouldn’t let John drive, and John was a little surprised that Rodney wasn’t insisting on a blindfold with the way that he was ignoring John’s requests for information. They drove about twenty minutes, with John making guesses every time they passed an attraction sign. When he saw one for Pikes Peak International Raceway, he said, “Are we going to see a race?”

“Not... quite,” Rodney said, as he took the exit.

“Rodney?” John was honestly baffled. Either they were going to see a race or they weren’t. Rodney was clearly focused on following the signs, leaving John to look around, and yeah, the track was pretty empty, so there clearly wasn’t a race today.

Then they turned at the sign that said, “Drivers only,” and John looked over at Rodney in surprise. “Should we back here?” he asked.

“Yes,” Rodney said, pointing ahead, at the low-slung racecar with a guy in a nomex tracksuit next to it.

“Rodney, what did you _do_?” he asked.

“I found you something to do for a couple of hours,” Rodney said, with a tentative smile, the one that made John want to hit things, because Rodney should never be tentative, and whoever made him that way needed to be beaten. “Well, go on,” he continued.

John hesitated for a moment, and Rodney said, “What are you waiting for? Time’s ticking, go for your drive.”

“I get to drive?” John said, as he fumbled with the seatbelt.

“Damn straight,” Rodney said.

John didn’t need to hear anymore as he got out of the car and walked over to the guy, who held out his hand. “Clark Hemby,” he said. “You must be John Sheppard?”

“Yeah, I must be,” he said, shaking his hand. “So, I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here?”

“I figured as much,” Mr. Hemby said. “I understand you’re a fighter pilot?”

“Yeah. Planes, helicopters, I’ve flown ‘em all.”

“Good, good. Well, here’s the plan. First we have to get you fitted in a tracksuit like mine - they’re flame retardant in case there’s an accident. We don’t exactly plan that that will happen, and it never has with this program, but there’s a first time for everything.

“Then I’ll take you on a few rounds, me driving, you watching. If I feel like you’ve paid attention, I’ll let you take the wheel for a few minutes. How’s that sound to you?”

“That sounds... amazing.” John couldn’t help glancing back at the car, where Rodney had pulled out his camera. John smiled and waved him over. “I assume that Rodney can take pictures?”

“Sure,” Hemby said, shrugging. “First off, I think this suit will fit you.” He held up the bright red tracksuit that had been lying crumpled on the roof of the car. John stepped out of his shoes and started pulling it on.

He could definitely see why Rodney had suggested a t-shirt and shorts - the suit was fairly tight, reminding John of a flight suit, and he could tell that it would get warm pretty quickly.

He put his shoes back on. After Hemby handed him a helmet and he settled it on his head, Hemby grinned at him and said, “Comfortable?”

“Yeah,” John said. He was, actually. He wasn’t crazy about the helmet - it restricted his movement and vision too much - but the suit was okay.

“Good. Now, as you’ve probably seen on the TV, real racecars, their doors don’t open. These aren’t “real” racecars - they’re similar, but they just don’t have something that racing them takes - the speed, the cornering, whatever. So, in that case, we haven’t welded the doors shut. Why don’t you go ahead and get in the passenger seat.”

John hurriedly obeyed, already mentally cataloguing the dashboard in relation to what he knew from flying. He identified the oil and water pressure gauges, the various fans, and the on/off toggle.

Hemby gave him a grin and started pointing out the various parts of the dash. John was impressed that he’d gotten so much correct.

“Okay, we’re going to go for a slow spin, just so you can get a feel for what’s what,” he said. “You need to put your restraints on, though.”

John was happy to see that they had six point restraints, even if he was used to seven point himself. He had to fumble with it - the connection points were different than he was used to - but he managed to get it all attached by the time Hemby started checking him over.

“Good job,” he said, and he flipped the switch, powering up the car. The engine came to life with a low roar, and Hamby had barely put it in gear when it was practically leaping forward.

John could feel the leashed power of the car as they slowly moved onto the track. “So, you probably already know this, but we have to warm up the tires before we get going, or we won’t get the right amount of traction,” Hamby said conversationally as he weaved slightly down the track. “We’ll do one lap like this, and then we’ll open it up.”

John nodded. He was a little surprised at how much he was excited by all of this - he flew spaceships for a living, for god’s sake! But he _was_ excited. He could barely wait till they could go as fast as this car could go.

Watching carefully, he saw the way that Hamby caressed the controls. His skill and enjoyment in the car were obvious. He guessed that Hamby probably felt the same way about driving that he felt about flying.

As they crossed the starting point, Hamby gave him an open, honest grin, turned back to the front, and floored it.

The car jumped forward, and within seconds they were going eighty, ninety, a hundred and ten. The G-force was familiar, pushing him back in the seat, but the lack of upward motion was a bit disorienting.

As they sped around the track, John found himself leaning into the turns, feeling the energy that pulled him across the seat and into the door. “This is amazing,” he yelled over the roar of the engines.

“You ready to really pull some speed?” Hamby replied.

“Oh, hell, yes.” John was all for it.

The speed started to creep up again, and they were soon going about a hundred and fifty, according to Hamby. John was just leaning back in his seat, enjoying every fucking second.

At this speed, they were lapping the track about twice a minute, and everything outside the window was a blur. They went around the track ten times, and then Hamby started to slow the car, taking one full lap of the track to bring it to a stop.

John didn’t want it to end, and he said as much to Hamby, who grinned. “Nah, we’re not done yet - it’s your turn.”

“Cool,” John said, but he couldn’t help bouncing a little in his seat. He waited for Hemby to cut the engine and then started fumbling with the unfamiliar restraints to get them off.

They both climbed out of the car so that they could switch places, and as John slid behind the steering wheel, he found himself grinning so hard his face hurt.

“Okay - I know you’ve got pilot reflexes, but to protect our insurance, you’re capped at one hundred miles an hour,” Hamby said. “Take your time, get the feel for the car.”

John really wanted to argue, but not as much as he wanted to drive the car, so he nodded and flipped the ignition, slowly pulling back out on the track. He took the first lap going about sixty, and was amazed at how responsive the car was. It was almost like driving the jumper, without having the ability to read his mind.

By the time he finished the second lap, he was going eighty, and then he pushed it slightly to hit a hundred.

It was _fantastic_. He was pouring every bit of attention into the drive; in the same way that he devoted all of his attention to flying in combat. Adrenaline was flooding his system, his focus narrowing to the road in front of him.

The asphalt was flowing under him, the bleachers and pit area flying past him. He whooped in excitement, vaguely aware of Hamby’s answering laugh.

Finally, though, Hamby said, “Okay, Sheppard. Time to start slowing down.”

He reluctantly obeyed, not really braking but taking his foot off the accelerator and letting inertia slow the car. When he was at sixty, he carefully circled the track one last time and then guided the car off the track to where Rodney sat, watching avidly.

“You sure you haven’t driven a race car before?” Hamby asked as John tried to come down from the high.

“I’m sure.” John was shaking as he burned through the last of the excitement. “That was incredible, though.”

“Well, if you ever want to give racing a try, give me a call,” Hamby said and climbed out of the car.

John got out too, shook Hamby’s hand, and walked over to where Rodney was waiting. “So?” Rodney asked.

“That was... I don’t have words,” John said. But he had actions, so he grabbed Rodney by the wrist and pulled him to his feet. His other hand wrapped around the back of Rodney’s head and pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss.

Rodney grinned against his lips, and returned the kiss enthusiastically. “I take it you liked it,” he said when the kiss ended.

“You could say that. It was unbelievable. Thank you so much,” he said, meaning every word.

Rodney smiled even wider. “Think you might want to reward me when we get back to the room?” he asked.

“If you’re not careful I’ll reward you right here,” John said with an exaggerated wink.

“Okay. That right there? Don’t do that again,” Rodney said, but he was already turning back to the car. “What are you waiting for? Hop to it.”

“Yes, sir,” said John, but he couldn’t wipe the grin from his face.

Rodney had hired him a racecar. For that he could take a little bit of Rodney being demanding. Hell, maybe even a lot.

As the track receded behind them, he let out another whoop of pure joy. Rodney was the best boyfriend ever. Maybe he’d even tell him that.


End file.
